


Sick Leave

by CheerfullyCynical



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asexual Character, Asexual Doctor (Doctor Who), F/M, Note the Ace tag, Nudity, Other, Sick Doctor (Doctor Who), Sick Fic, The Master takes care of the Doctor, The Master washes the Doctor's hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:53:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25816105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheerfullyCynical/pseuds/CheerfullyCynical
Summary: “Not like this.” She cried,and that spark, that driving rage in his chest fizzled and died, like the millions of stars that had perished under his anger.As he stared in the eyes of a friend he had known longer than himself, it was almost easy to come upon his decision of goodwill.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 79





	Sick Leave

_“Please.”_ She had begged, tears on her face and the pain of a thousand lifetimes in her eyes.

He could feel his hearts beat in his chest, excruciating and heavy.

“ _No more.”_ She had said,

and the breath caught in his lungs.

“Why should I make it easy for you?” He had replied,

bitter and petty, lies passing through his lips like venom – words he had repeated to her once before. Words, half-confessions, that had burned his tongue but started a fire in his soul. He thought he wanted her to beg – for her to be inferior to him.

 _“Not like this.”_ She cried,

and that spark, that driving rage in his chest fizzled and died, like the millions of stars that had perished under his anger.

As he stared in the eyes of a friend he had known longer than himself, it was almost easy to come upon his decision of goodwill. He kneeled at her level, shaking, just as fragile as she was.

“Not like this.” He had echoed, a promise he hoped to keep. He had watched as blonde, greasy hair covered her face – he did not know if relief pegged her or shame. Prison had done her no favors, and him no favors to it. Burning it down in her name would be, at the very least, cathartic.

It was her that allowed his physical touch, practically pleading for release with the tilt of her head. Still, benevolence he would do: his own hand found her temple with strange familiarity. He had let her fall into his arms, head dropping onto his shoulder, as he demanded sleep from her body. Hypnosis had always come easy to him and with her mind in disarray, it was easier than ever.

She was heavy in his arms as he carried her through his TARDIS. The occasional whimper broke the uneasy silence around them. Even unconscious, she was at war.

It was how he found himself looking at her now, tossing and turning in his bed, brow furrowed as another nightmare – no, memory – plagued her.

The Master wondered what she could see – what she was living through. How many lives had the infamous Doctor of legend lived before she arrived at _this_ version of her?

She whimpered again, all scared and pathetic, and the Master _hated_ it. He didn’t know what sparked his hatred - the fact that her own mind had betrayed her or that she was just so _pitiful_ \- but he did not want to hear that sound from her again.

He rushed towards her, infuriated, ready to forcibly wake her up, when a loud gasp left her mouth. He blinked as she pulled herself from a nightmare with a breathless scream, panting in fear as she focused on her surroundings.

Her eyes landed on him. For some reason, there was relief in the way her body slumped in exhaustion. 

“I thought…” She said, but she looked away, biting her lip.

She thought what? That he would have left her in the dingy little cell? That he wouldn’t be here with her?

The Master didn’t know what he expected either.

“Thank you,” She said instead, “for getting me out.”

“Call it a temporary truce,” He said in leu of answering, “And my unnatural curiosity to understand what exactly is going on in that head of yours.”

She turned to look at him, all righteous, “I’d happily trade places.”

Would she? Would she had rather have four drumbeats in her head since she was a child? Or was it his utter desire to destroy what he loved that she craved? Perhaps it was the never-ending pinning for her?

He turned away, flicking an uncaring hand at her as he made his way out of the room, “Might want to have a shower,” He suggested, “The TARDIS will no doubt give you an outfit – every TARDIS seems to like you well enough.”

He wasn’t looking at her, hand on the doorknob, but he could feel her unease. What had he done now?

“Thank you.” She repeated.

It had been a long time since he had heard those words with sincerity from her. He wondered how many times he could drag that out of her before they want back to their old ways.

Still, no one said he had to return that kindness.

He left his room without another word, footsteps echoing down the hallways as he made he was back to the console room. His TARDIS greeted him with a plethora of beeps, even daring to go warm where his hand leaned against him.

“Of course.” He grumbled, “You _would_ like her.”

The TARDIS said nothing to that. He sighed, spinning his dials, sending him through the Time Vortex with steady hands. Might as well let the TARDIS enjoy the peace while he figured out what in Rassilon’s name was the next step of his plan.

He had laughed for hours when he heard the news about the Doctor’s capture. It seemed a fitting ending to the crimes she had committed against him. His intention with going to visit her was to lord over the fact that she, like Missy, was doomed to never repent from her sins.

But upon seeing her, in the throws of what he could only call was a fit, had sent him over the edge. She had tried to explain what was happening to her – that the images of Ireland had awaken other memories inside of her – that the pain they caused her both physically and mentally were debilitating.

He didn’t realize how awful it was until she had stopped talking in the middle of a sentence – her limbs had locked, slow and tense, and with the fear of Rassilon himself in her eyes, he watched as she fell to her side, convulsing.

Still, he patronized her before he had carried her to safety. _“Why should I make it easy for you…When it wasn’t for me.”_

It was _always_ the same – and she was the one to win.

It was constantly _The Doctor,_ wasn’t it? No matter what he did, no matter how many times he told himself that he could exist without being in the stratosphere of her, he ended up pulled in by her intoxicating gravity.

The TARDIS beeped at him. He ignored the concerned old man, not wanting comfort – not wanting anything. With the Doctor securely locked on his TARDIS, maybe he could finally get some sleep.

The TARDIS beeped at him once again, this time loud enough to grate on his ears. Rolling his eyes at the dramatics (a bit hypocritical), he glanced up at his screens, leaning in when he caught sight of what the TARDIS was trying to tell him.

The Doctor had collapsed.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXx

She was weak.

Her limbs felt heavy and useless. The idea of moving, of _walking,_ was enough to make her close her eyes. She had missed running – missed the stars – during her imprisonment and now, even free on the Master’s TARDIS, she was still a prisoner.

And not even because of the Master (Well, that was still to be determined). No, she was stuck in her own body and mind – the perfect trap.

Frustrated, she threw herself up from the bed, bare feet slamming against the cold wood floor. The ridiculous fireplace, only feet away, seemed to hold no real heat, only there for design.

Figures – the Master had always loved luxury and his bedroom hid no signs of that. From the large king bed with far too many pillows, to the already discussed large fireplace, and even down to the black hardwood floor with twenty-eighth century rug beneath her… It screamed her oldest friend.

It was a nice thought to think that she still knew him, even after all their years.

Even after all her lifetimes.

She put her head in her hands, rubbing at her eyes. “Come on, Doctor,” She whispered to herself, “A shower sounds nice, yeah? It’s been a bit – much nicer than a rag and cold water.”

 _Prison._ Two people she had loved had been prisoners before. Seemed only fair that it was her turn.

River was right – she wasn’t made to sit still for too long.

Giving herself one more mental push, she willed herself into a standing position. She made it all the way up, but the moment she tried to take a step, her ankle betrayed her. She went down with a yelp, hands catching her fall before she even knew that she had fallen.

She sighed loudly, frustrated. She dug her hands into the obnoxious rug, pulling at the threads. She did a half pushup, bringing herself to her knees – with the rest of her strength, she threw herself back up, shaking like a leaf, but on her feet.

“Walking,” She said to herself, “No problem, eh? Just a few paces to what is probably a very ridiculous and big bathroom suite. Then, I can fix…This…Issue.”

It was fixable issue… Wasn’t it? She was weak from not having food and water in… A long time – that was all. Not the non-stop pounding in her head thanks to the lives she had forgotten.

Not willing to have that train of thought, she focused once again as she _just_ made it to the door of the bathroom. She was panting, head spinning, but she had done it.

“What are you doing?”

She hadn’t heard him come in – that had always been a strength of his. When they were children, he took great joy in scaring her. He had turned it into a game, even after that had grown into adulthood. They were much older now.

She still jumped – there was an age-old amusement in his eyes.

“I’m…” She huffed, ignoring him and his stupid smirk, “Taking a shower.”

“Yes,” He replied, the sarcasm thick in his voice, “Leaning against the doorframe will surely get you there. I’d imagine that _standing_ in the shower is going to go swimmingly.”

“Was gonna sit, actually.” She leaned her head against the wall. It was cool and felt nice. “Might give up on it, if I’m honest. Bit… Knackered.”

He sighed but walked over to her, his footsteps loud in the silent room. He glanced at her once, something piercing and so out of character for him that she found herself completely enamored. Without a word, the Master took her hand and dragged it across his shoulders, supporting her.

“So stubborn.” he muttered, but he didn’t look too angry as they both shuffled their way into the bathroom. To her immense displeasure, she had been right – it featured one of the biggest tubs she had ever seen and an even larger bathroom vanity that practically had its own room.

He sat her on the small stool in front of the mirror without a word, taking care to be slow with her. It surprised her, really, after having his harsh eyes plague her nightmares for so long. She had thought she had lost him to Gallifrey’s twin destruction – that she lost all of his limited kindness towards her the day Ko Sharmus blew up their home.

He was filling the tub up, rather than letting the shower run. She went to complain but found herself too exhausted to argue. Shower – bath, same idea. At least tub allowed for sitting. She watched as he sprinkled the water with Pernsha salts, intending for healing, and then some sort of soap she didn’t recognize.

“Why?” She asked him, the question escaping her before she even knew what she was asking. Still, she found that she wanted the answer more than anything else.

“Why.” He repeated, whispering the word, “I asked myself the same question. Why am I helping you – what in the universe constantly drives me back to _you.”_

She looked away, even if his eyes weren’t on her. The Master always had a way with words – ways to make her feel worthless and stupid. But there were moments when she felt equal and loved, and those moments were so exhilarating that she couldn’t resist them.

“I’m glad it does.” She admitted, even as the fires of her home planet – their home planet – sprung before her eyes.

He said nothing to that – only the tensing of his shoulders was an admission to how her words affected him. They sat and waited in silence, anxious and awkward, and it took everything for the Doctor not to ramble about something – or fall asleep where she was sitting.

The Master shut the tap off. She waited for him to make some remark, to leave her, but he turned to her, raising an eyebrow when she didn’t move. He looked towards the tub… And then to her.

She flushed. She didn’t even know this regeneration _blushed –_ The heat from it was going all the way down to her neck.

“You know,” She said, voice just a _tad_ higher than usual, “I’m not really a bath person, me. Really, sleeping sounds wonderful at the mo’. _Or_ the shower looks lovely. I once had this rather awkward situation with-”

“You’re having fits of near stroke symptoms,” The Master said in equal tones, interrupting her, “If you have one, you’ll no doubt drown yourself. I’m saving you the embarrassment of having _that_ pitiful death on your list.”

The idea of having the Master there while she bathed was just too much. The vulnerability of that, of being exposed while he kept watch was too much to process. Not to mention… She had thought he hated her. No, she _knew_ that some part of him resent their history together. Why would he be willing to help her now?

“Contrary to your belief,” He said softly, “The last thing I desire is watching you regenerate in my washroom. And, Doctor, did you forget your time with O?”

He was referring to the time that she had stormed into O’s living room, needing some sort of intelligent person to bounce ideas off of, when she had stumbled into a very naked O coming out of the shower. It was embarrassing on both sides, really, considering that the Doctor – along with most of the Time Lord race – had never really been interested in sex.

Still, she blushed. She had honestly forgotten about that trivial story. With everything, the fact that he had played such a good role of a curious, friendly human had been tossed to the back of her mind. She had almost thought of the Master and O as too separate people, even after his big reveal. It had been her way of coping and now the dam of that hurt had finally splintered.

“No,” She answered, “I haven’t.”

He was undisturbed by her dry tone. He hummed joyfully in agreement, shrugging his shoulders. “The bath, then?”

She hated how confident he was in her anger. Still, one look at the steaming water and she felt herself giving in. He was so frustratingly right – she would no doubt drown if she got stuck in her head, raspatory bypass or not.

“Turn around.”

Being nude had always been a problem with Time Lords, but that had never bothered them. It was never exactly sexual between them (Bill mentioned something about asexual that seemed to fit best) except for the occasional kiss or two, and both preferred that. However, after everything that occurred on Gallifrey… And over the years… She didn’t feel safe with him anymore.

The Master rolled his eyes at her, but slowly did so as he was told. She quickly changed out of rather filthy prison garb, keeping an eye on him as she did so. To her relief, he did not move. It was only when she had fully settled into the bath (very large bath that let her stretch and move around and maybe it wasn’t _that_ stupidly luxurious) that he had turned around.

With the way she was sat, he was behind her, perhaps getting more of view, but honestly the High Console could be in front of her at that moment and she simply wouldn’t care – the hot water soothed her aching muscles in way she didn’t think possible.

She could hear him puttering around the room, grabbing something from one drawer or another, and finally taking a seat at that – again – ridiculously large mirror.

“Comfortable?”

She could hardly hear him – the water cascading into her ears muffled his voice. She felt like sinking into it. All she could do was hum in agreement. She closed her eyes, letting the water heal her pains, and simply enjoyed the silence around her – it was out of character for her to be so still, so at peace and unmoving, but it was a welcomed compared to the loneliness of that cell.

She was so relaxed that by the time she registered the Master’s presence behind her, it was too late to stop him. The moment his fingertips touched the back of her neck, she flinched roughly with a gasp. Water splashed everywhere, onto the floor, and she found herself eye to eye to him as she kneeled in the tub.

He was kneeling as well, hands up, the picture of surprise. She wondered what she looked like to him, completely bare, breathing heavily as she willed herself to calm down. Water from her hair was dripping into the tub, the drops ten times louder in the silent room.

“What are you doing?” She finally asked.

To his credit, he said nothing as he looked towards the bottles of various hair products. She wished now that he would have been less of her friend and let her drown herself. She felt like an idiot – worse, she felt like an untrustworthy idiot.

“Ah.” She said, unable to form another word.

“Ah.” He answered. He kept a very steady and strange eye contact with her. Her nakedness came back to her full force and found herself grateful once again that he was trying his best to be respectful. The tension in her shoulders dropped.

“Right.” She said, very awkwardly sinking back into the tub, the water covering mostly everything, “That’s very… Kind of you.”

“You’ve always liked it,” He replied, “Remember the Amazon?”

The Amazon Rainforest in 1902s. It was the very first and last time they had stolen a TARDIS and ran off together. The only reason the Doctor was able to convince the Master to go was because they were celebrating their secret wedding ceremony – the Master had called them a sentimental fool at the time, but had enjoyed it more than the Doctor had.

The Master must have been thinking about their time in the hot springs. They had spent many hours skinny dipping (as the humans called it) there and laying in the forest. The TARDIS was happy enough to provide them with shampoo, and the Doctor’s favorite thing was for the Master to play with their hair.

She was lost in her memories that she didn’t realize he was already moving, reaching for some shampoo that smelled of rainwater, and, finally, his hands were on her scalp, messaging gently.

Words left her mouth - too many “thank yous” and happy noises that she should honestly be ashamed of herself. It was him that lured her into a nearly perfect state of calm – floating gently in the water as steady hands comb her hair, she felt better than she had in months.

“You’re ridiculous.”

She hummed, not caring. He hands moved to her neck, caressing, pushing the hair on the back of her neck up and down. He ran his fingers through the strands, combing them out. It reminded her too much of their first life together, so much so that she felt her love for him, the one she tried so hard to bury, rear its head.

She was reminded of a different time. It was the Master’s first face that she saw as she sat in class. He was smirking at her, using different hand signals to give her some of the answers. Their teacher had never caught on, both of them far too smart of that, and it only made her smile at the memory.

When she looked up again from her test, wanting to see him one more time, it was a stranger looking at her, eyes lifeless in death.

She tried to scream, but she was frozen in her body, forced to watch what her mind wanted. She was lost in her memoirs, unaware of her outside surroundings.

The Doctor remembered a time before her own name… And felt pain.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The Master hadn’t expected it.

Which was ironic, considering why he was here in the first place. The only reason she had allowed his presence was to watch over her for this exact reason. Still, he watched in horror as she suddenly went slack – her head hit the edge of the tub, even with his hands on her, and he winced at what he knew would be a bruise.

Without hesitating, he fished her out of the water by her arm pits. Her limbs were locked painfully, twitching madly in his arms, and he let out another curse word as she seized, her head almost hitting the ground. Instead, he had shoved his own arm below her, catching the blow.

There was water on the ground, soaking his trousers, but he sat down on the tiled floor anyway, back against the tub, holding her. It took far too many excoriating minutes, but eventually her body slumped in exhaustion, lifeless. Fearing the worst, his fingers went to her neck, looking for her heart beats.

They were fast, far too fast, but beating.

He breathed out, utterly exhausted, stupidly worried. He hadn’t seen the start of the first episode she had when she was in the cell – this was far worse than he ever considered. Her desperation to leave that cell, even when he still saw it as a weakness, made sense.

She was asleep now. Knowing she would be angry if he left her naked in his bathroom, he gathered her up in his arms, grunting with the effort. He felt disgusting, his trouser and bottom of his shirt were completely soaked through, freezing him to the bone.

He placed the Doctor gently on his bed, and then quickly headed to his closet. The TARDIS already knew what he was looking for, thankfully, and easily relinquished the large purple bathrobe.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and the usually fake fireplace roared with heat, slowly drying his clothes. He got the message – being kind led to more gifts. This TARDIS was more meddlesome than Doctor, which was saying something.

Maneuvering her into the robe was a feat onto itself and he could practically hear the speech she would give if she was still awake. There would be far too many “I’m fine’s” and his frustrations would only grow. He admired his work, glad that she was now covered, and made note of the way her nose scrunched in discomfort, and then back to normal. She looked far younger than her years as she turned her head to the side, falling into a peaceful sleep.

_What the hell was he doing?_

He stared down at her, at her vulnerable state, and wondered when vengeance had formed into compassion. This was the only person in the universe that could bring him to his knees – that could judge him and determine his very soul. This was the person that he wanted to bend to his will, to be _more than…_ And now… Looking at her as she recovered from his actions…

He thought of their eyes when they were children, so scared and full of fear, and then as they grew up together. The love the Doctor had held for him had been his strength, his weakness, and – still – he would do anything to see that love once again.

He would do anything to go back to the way things were.

She woke up violently, stopping his thoughts.

He jumped, back colliding with his bookshelf, making some of them fall to the ground. The Doctor’s head turned towards the noise, eyes wide.

_“Where am I?”_

She was speaking Ancient Greek. _Ancient Greek._ He wondered, wildly, what the Division had needed in Ancient Greek – what possible mysteries could there have been that required sending an innocent child to a place so corrupt.

“You’re in my TARDIS,” He answered, making sure to switch to the English she preferred, “Like I thought, you nearly hurt yourself in the tub.”

“TARDIS, yes.” She repeated, thankfully in English, lifeless. She shook her head, rubbing harshly at her eyes, “I’m sorry. I just… Need a moment.”

She hadn’t been nearly this slow when she woke up last time from this. He wondered which one was better for her. “I’ll let you recover.” He went to leave the room, needing to gather his own thoughts, but she stopped him.

“No!” She said, fear in her voice.

He looked at her, surprised more than anything at her admission.

She didn’t appear to care. “Please,” She asked quietly, “Stay?”

He studied her – she was shaking once again, arms curled around herself. She looked like a child, scared of the dark, and the Master wondered what she had remembered to frighten her so.

Today was the not the day he asked.

Instead, he nodded. Limbs feeling awkward and heavy, he moved to the bed. He sat down, taking off his shoes with a kick, and soon moving under the covers, eyes firmly on the ceiling above him as he settled on his back. He suddenly regretted the picture of stars he had chosen.

They were Gallifrey’s constellations that swam in his vision. He wondered if she saw them yet.

The Doctor didn’t know or didn’t care. Instead, as if she was taming a wild animal, she slowly moved closer to him. He said nothing as she laid her head on her shoulder, breathing small puffs of air on his neck. Even worse, he moved to accommodate her, his arm going under her head.

They said nothing – didn’t need to say anything. They feel asleep peacefully in each other arms, content to be enemy and friend, and let their past melt away.

The Master would never forgive her or himself, but one last night with the Doctor in his arms was worth every hurt the universe had to offer.

**Author's Note:**

> I... Got no excuse of this one. I'm just weak for these two being soft. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3 
> 
> If you want to rant about Doctor Who, need someone to talk to in these trying times, or simply want a new blog to follow, my tumblr is cheerfullycynicalfandom.tumblr.com .


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